


The Way You Want Me To

by Rasiaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cafe Job, Christmas, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt, Hangover, Heavy Angst, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasiaa/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I move to the door, and this time, he lets me go." The nasty results of unrequited love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Want Me To

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't an AU. It's in the HP universe. Just- next gen. Eh.

My father has never approved of my life choices; my grandfather even less so, and my grandmother had once told me that she believes that's why I do these things. At the time, I hadn't put much stock to her words, but thinking back on it now, I think she was right.

I pull a pack out of my back pocket and pop open the lid, shaking the package in my hand until I can successfully grab a cigarette. Taking it out, I put the stick between my teeth and put away my pack, turning to the guy beside me and asking, "Do you have a lighter?"

He glares at me for a moment, but smokers generally stick together, especially in places like this, and we don't begrudge each other a small spark. This holds true with this guy, who reaches into his leather jacket to pull out the wanted lighter and hands it to me silently. "Thanks," I huff, flicking it to life with my thumb while I bring it to the edge of the cigarette. It catches fire after a few brief seconds, and I hand the lighter back to the guy while I take a long drag of my chosen poison.

"Scorpius," someone says, and I look down at the girl sitting by my feet. I actually have never seen her before, because I'm fairly certain I would remember someone with orange hair and enough make-up to supply my cousin Dom for a year, but I respond with a hum anyway. She hands me a stick and I remove the cigarette from my lips to take a drag of this, before passing it along to the guy standing next to me. He takes it and I replace the weed with my cigarette, taking a lazy scan of the room.

The club is as crowded as ever, with people so close to one another that not grinding against someone while dancing is impossible. Lights flash brightly along the floor and the walls, moving and flickering to the backbeat of the music playing. I recognize the song vaguely, as I've never paid much attention to muggle music, but have come here often enough to have heard it once or twice.

The tables on the sidelines are full, and since I've been watching, I've been able to see that the original parties of anywhere from three to seven have fluctuated wildly over the past three hours, much to my amusement. Not that I'm exempt from that, I think, looking back at the girl by my feet, who is now giggling shrilly at the boy next to her. He has straws up his nose and an empty bottle in his hand, and I know that one is a wasted disaster waiting to happen.

I snort in amusement and turn in my seat to the bartender, who, while busy, looks equally bored and pissed off. I tap my bottle on the counter and he shoots me a glare, his dark hair falling over the gray of his eyes. Without a word, he slams another drink in front of me and turns to walk away, but I reach out and grab the edge of his apron. "Wanna fuck sometime, sweetheart?" I ask conversationally, slipping him a fifty-pound note with my cell number written in the paper inside it. His eyes narrow and I release him. Laughing, I lean back and he stalks off, which is only humorous because of his short stature.

Time begins to blur as I order one drink after another. The bartender with my number disappears sometime around one am with a blond guy that's a least a foot taller than him, which is disappointing but not surprising. I'd seen the guy glaring at me earlier.

I reach out to order another drink, but a pale hand slips over mine and a soft voice sounds in my ear. "That's enough, Scorpius."

I turn around but my vision has gone to shit by this point, and I shake my head. "S'not," I slur, and the man- I think- shakes his head. He takes my hand and reaches around to my back pocket, brushing over my cigarette pack and making me jump. Instead of feeling me up, though, he pulls out my car keys and dangles them in front of me. "Hey!" I yell, attracting some attention, but I ignore them in favor of punching this guy.

I must be more drunk than I thought, because I don't even hit him and instead fall over. Instead of hitting the floor, however, the guy guides my head into his shoulder and wraps his arm around my waist, cold fingers brushing the skin where my shirt had ridden up. Despite the coolness of his fingertips, however, the rest of him is warm, and so when he starts walking me from the bar, through the dwindled population of people on the dance floor and into the cold air of late night September London, I can only bring myself to press closer to the stranger.

He laughs weakly and leads me to my car, opening the passenger door and situating me into the seat. He shuts the door and I lean back, the familiar scent of cigarettes and my practically useless air freshener filling my nose. The driver's door opens and he slides into the seat, starting the car with my keys and pulling into the road.

A few minutes pass in silence, and I stare, comfortably numb, outside the window, watching the late-night city dwellers and the shops and other buildings of London pass us by. I fixate my gaze onto the road where I would turn to go home, but my mysterious driver passes right by it, and it's then that I speak. "Y'missed my s'reet," I mutter, and he jolts, glancing over at me.

He returns his sights to the road, shifting his hands on the steering wheel in what I- amazingly enough- recognize to be a nervous tick. "I don't know where it is exactly you live, so I'm taking you to my flat, just outside of London," he says.

In my drunkenness, it doesn't occur to me that I don't know who I'm with or where I'm going, nor do I think of the dangers this could impose. Instead, I hum in reply and lean on my headrest, letting my eyes slip shut.

…

I snap awake when there's a sudden flash of light, and I groan when my head starts to pound as a result. "Sorry," a voice says, and I blearily open my eyes to find my driver settling me onto an unfamiliar couch with an unfamiliar blanket in an unfamiliar living room. "You fell asleep in the car," he continues, and moves into a kitchen, which is to the right. "I would go back to sleep. It's not even four am yet, and I can see that you're still very drunk," he finishes.

I don't reply. I just watch him move around the tiny, yet open, kitchen space with an obvious sense of familiarity. I blink and suddenly he's right in front of me, holding a steaming teacup in front of my face. "Merlin," he says, "you really are out of it, aren't you, Scorpius?"

Wordlessly, I take the teacup and take a long sip from it, feeling a little bit more clearheaded. I hand it back to him and he takes it with a smile, one that tugs at my memory, but before I can think on it too much, I'm sound asleep on the couch.

…

There's the sound of incessant knocking, and some part of me is saying that I really should be paying attention to it; the majority of me is working through a suddenly raging hangover and is protesting loudly and fiercely to the thought of getting up. After debating for a moment, I roll over and decide to go with option two- going back to sleep. But when I roll over, there's nothing there.

For a second I'm confused, then my head hits the floor and my stomach protests violently to such rough treatment after a night of drinking and smoking. Looking up, I locate a sink across the room and bolt over to it, throwing up as soon as I bend my head over. There's movement behind me and the knocking continues, but I ignore it and heave up everything I've eaten for the past month.

The ceramic counter is cool under my fingers, and so I rest my forehead on it, deciding it's much better than a toilet, which is usually where I am at this time of the day.

"Great Merlin, who the hell did you bring back here?"

A woman's voice sounds uncomfortably loud in the confines of my brain, and I groan loudly, my stomach churning before I lean over the sink again and resume my punishment for drinking alcohol. "An old friend of mine, Rose, now, please- let me deal with him."

"I've never known you to have friends who are alcoholics, Al," the woman- Rose, my mind fills in, says, doubt filling her voice. A cool hand touches my shoulder blade gently, smoothing comforting circles into my skin through the fabric of my shirt. "How you doing, sweetie?" Rose questions.

I pull away from the sink and rest my forehead back on the counter, panting, "Terribly," as a response.

She chuckles and runs long nailed fingers through my sweat-soaked platinum blond hair. "I'll bet. Drinking never has good consequences."

"But I'm dumb enough to have been doing drugs, too," I confess, and the logical part of my brain starts demanding what the fuck I think I'm doing, while the rest of my brain is still stuck in a drunken stupor.

"Oh, I know," she says. "I can smell them."

I groan and she pulls away with a light laugh, much to my chagrin. "Well, feel better sweetie. You're in good hands, now," she assures, and I can hear the click of heels on hardwood floors, then the click of a door.

"Are you hungry, or thirsty?" my host asks, making me jump. I swing around to look at him, and for the first time, I actually realize that _I know him_.

The face of Albus Severus Potter stares back at me quizzically, obviously waiting for an answer. "Uh…" I say eloquently, and he shakes his head.

"How about orange juice and pancakes?" he asks, moving to get the required elements from various places around his kitchen.

Still hung up on the fact that I'm half-drunk and _in my old roommate's apartment_ I just nod numbly. "Uh, sure," I agree, wincing inwardly when I hear how vacant and stupid I sound. What a dumbass I am.

He looks at me and waves his wand, the glass of juice floating over to me. Unused to seeing magic, I stare at it for several moments while it waits in front of me before I pluck it from the air. I look back to Albus as he watches the pancakes cook themselves, taking in the young man who replaced my best friend.

He's taller, much taller than I remember and certainly taller than me. I stopped growing a while ago, at a dismal 165 centimeters. It had been a source of amusement for Albus when he finally had a growth spurt in seventh year and gained 15 centimeters on me. It appears that he had grown even more since graduation. A mop of inky black hair sits on his head, nowhere near the rat's nest of hair that his father and brother are cursed with. He's dyed the ends of his hair a dark green, reminding me even more of the teen years I'd rather forget.

Even when he was eleven, Albus was skinny. No matter what he tried, he could never be promoted from "stick" on the weight scale. It seems that he managed to, sometime during my disappearance, because his wrists and ankles no longer look like they could break at any moment, and I can remember blearily that I could hardly feel his ribs anymore. The pajamas he's wearing only highlight the lean muscle he's gained.

"Something wrong?" Albus' voice breaks through my thoughts. I flush and look to the pancakes, which are piling on a plate on the counter according to Albus' order. I shake my head, and that earns me a worsening headache and a long, weighty look from my ex-best friend.

He hums and places the pancakes and two empty plates on the table, waving his wand to guide syrup and strawberries onto the table as well. He passes by me and takes my cup- that I didn't realize is empty- and refills it before handing it back. He takes a seat at the table and grabs a pancake on his fork, before freezing and looking at me expectantly.

Once again, I find myself flushing with embarrassment. I shuffle over to the table and take a seat, and Albus immediately piles three pancakes onto my plate while he pours syrup all over five pancakes and the plate with his other hand. He offers it to me silently, and I shake my head, to which he shrugs and drops the bottle onto the table. I wince at the clanging noise it makes, and thankfully Albus doesn't notice.

I eat quickly and quietly, watching Albus out of the corner of my eye. He eats like he's been starved his whole life, evidently uncaring of his company. I can remember eating with him at school, and at his house- because he was never allowed at mine- and he never ate like this. I can recall that his father is amazingly well mannered, and I'm willing to bet that he hadn't allowed such behavior.

Or that could have been his mother's influence, but given her upbringing, I doubt it.

When I finish, Albus asks, "More?" and when I say no, he stands and grabs my plate from the table as he walks by, to the sink. He turns on the water and leaves the plates to wash themselves, turning to me. "What are you going to do?" he asks.

Taking one more moment to look at magic and remember the feel of it, then promptly ignore the longing and power surging in my chest, I look at him. "What do you mean?"

He gestures around. "It's Friday," he says, like this should mean something to me.

When I stare at him blankly, he sighs. "Don't you have a job?" he questions.

"I don't work on Fridays," I tell him.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and I stand before he can say anything. "Regardless, I really should be leaving," I say, and make my way to the door just as he tries to respond. Suddenly everything is too much, my heart is racing and I can feel more vomit trying to burn its way up my esophagus. "Thanks for your hospitality and for taking care of me last night," I say, and open the door and step out, slamming it behind me with a loud crash.

…

I put my car into my parking spot in the lot of my apartment complex and hop out, closing the door. My neighbor eyes me quietly, knowing me well enough by now that she won't come to my door for another couple of hours. I smile at her, and she smiles back, looking concerned as I enter my apartment with shaking hands.

As soon as my door is shut behind me, I hunt down another pack of cigarettes. I discovered that the one in my back pocket is empty on the way back here. I find one under the pile of unopened letters from my old Hogwarts friends on the counter and shake one out of the box with a desperation that is honestly starting to scare me. I find my lighter in an empty coffee mug on the floor next to my couch and flick it open, only to find that it's empty.

Letting out a screech, I turn and start hunting through drawers in my kitchen, looking for something to light the cigarette. I search through three drawers without success before I slam open a fourth and my wand comes tumbling to the front.

And suddenly, I no longer have a need for tobacco in my lungs and the smell of the burning leaves and paper in my face. It's like I've lost the addiction.

I pull the unlit cigarette from between my teeth and rest it on my counter, pulling out my wand. It's been six and a half years since I touched it last, and feeling the familiar wood between my fingers is like I was drowning for all this time and I've just come to the surface of the ocean, expecting to find it turbulent and rocky, but instead coming face to face with a smooth expanse of clear, blue waters. It's like coming home.

Reverently, I run my hands all over it, feeling slight crevices in the handle where I had gripped it and preformed wondrous acts of magic. I can feel the carvings on it, the engravings of vines and flowers on the dark oak. Unbidden, tears rise in my eyes. It's been so, so long.

Swallowing back my emotion, I grip it firmly and frown slightly at the way the handle doesn't settle correctly in my hand. I look down when I realize that it did not have the chance to grow with me, to fit in my hands as they changed. I close my eyes.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," I whisper. I can feel the tug of my magic, and open my eyes to see only wisps of blue emerge from my wand. Biting back my tears, I think back for a happy moment, and Albus rises to my mind.

How he stood on the counter this morning and watched the pancakes, with plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips and feet bare on the hardwood floor. The plain shirt he was wearing slipped on his shoulder for barely a second before he fixed it absently, still watching and not noticing me. How warm he felt the night before, how kind he'd been all through my troubles.

I grip my wand tighter as my heart starts to race, and all of my blood starts to pool south. I sigh, resigned, and mutter, " _Expecto Patronum_ ," once again.

In a burst of gentle, blue light, the koi fish I've only managed to conjure once before appears in my kitchen, drifting around me softly. I smile and watch it move around my kitchen before it dissipates into wispy tendrils and the light on my wand goes out.

I sigh and lean on the wall, pressing two fingers to the bridge of my nose. I bow my head and look at my wand in my other hand.

…

_"Scorpius?"_

_I looked up and focused blearily on my mother, standing in my doorway. She sighed when she saw me, moving into my room and shutting my door behind her. She gathered the skirt of her dress and sat on the bed next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and drawing me close. "Please tell me you won't do this again," she pleaded. "Draco is going to lose his mind if you come stumbling in here drunk another time."_

_"Can't," I muttered. "Addicted."_

_That was when she started to cry, gathering me into her lap and rocking me back and forth like a child. I couldn't bring myself to move._

…

_"I've tolerated a lot from you, Scorpius, and certainly a lot more than my father would have ever put up with! Fraternizing with mudbloods and blood traitors, fine! Drinking underage, I did that! Liking boys- well, okay then! Nothing I could do. That doesn't mean that you can skip work and go to muggle clubs and get back here hung over and higher than a kite! This behavior- Scorpius, you ought to be ashamed. You're eighteen and a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake._

_"Go. Leave here and don't come back. Until you've learned how to properly behave, that your issues won't be dealt with in the real world."_

_"Draco…!"_

_"No, Astoria. I can't put up with this, not any longer."_

_"Fine. I'll show you that I'll be okay alone, Father. I won't even use magic."_

_"Good riddance."_

…

It's cold.

Of course, that's to be expected in November.

I shiver and bite my lip, taking keys from my back pocket and sliding one into the lock.

The bakery door swings open in a gust of wind, rattling the bells like mad and kicking up a whirlwind of snow. Growling, I move into the empty building and shut the door; locking it once I'm inside. Still shivering, I move to the back room and turn on the heater, which is off after closing to save money. It takes a moment to kick in, so I pre-heat the ovens and hang my coat on the rack.

I move to the sink and wash my hands, then don my apron and move to get the flour down from the cabinet, then bite my lip.

Since my encounter with Albus several months ago, I've been using magic much more frequently. It's like I was starved for it and now I can't get enough since that brief encounter in the kitchen of Albus' flat. I take a quick glance at the work schedule and notice no one will be joining me until opening time in three hours. It's three ten in the morning, and I'm alone.

I remove my wand from its holster on my arm with a flick of my wrist. Taking an unsteady breath, I wave it at the flour and watch the white powder spread itself all over the counter. I turn to the racks on the other side of the room and wave my wand, watching the pre-made dough come to me and settle neatly on the counter next to the flour.

I could use magic for the entirety of the baking today and get so much more done than normal. It's Monday, after all, and demands for something sweet are so much higher on Mondays. I consider it for a moment before I shake my head and get to work.

Bread is easiest. Since most of it is made at night for the following morning, I don't have to do much to it. I beat each loaf a bit more to get it ready, then slide them in groups of ten into the ovens and leave them to bake.

Then, I get to work on cookies and get several batches done with the help of only a slight amount of magic to speed up the beaters. Chocolate chip, plain, sugar, and peanut butter- I have all of them done in just under an hour. I slide the fresh bread into another oven to keep warm, and slide the cookies into place.

By four thirty, I have most of the baking done that I'm required to. I sigh and look at it all, spread on the counter. Breads, pastries, and cookies are ready for the shift that won't start for another half hour. Rolling my eyes and thinking of the absurd amount of time it takes to use a whisk, I move to the main part of the bakery, shutting the door behind me to trap the heat in the back room.

Sighing, I start taking chairs down from tables and arranging them neatly, a job normally reserved for the waiters and waitresses, not the bakers. I wipe the tables down absently, setting out the proper flower arrangements that we keep in the fridge when all the tables are clean. By then, I still have ten minutes left.

With nothing else to do, I walk out into the cold alley behind the bakery and light up a cigarette, smoking it tiredly.

"Scorpius?"

I turn around and look at the girl. Amelia, the waitress who is always at least five minutes early every morning. "Hey," I greet, suddenly ultra-aware of my wand pressed against my right forearm. The twenty-year old is the daughter of the owner of this place, and she met me through a friend of hers who- unbeknownst to Amelia- is a drug dealer. Amelia, for whatever reason, had liked me quite a bit, even going so far as to flirt with me before I told her I'm gay, then she backed off. A few weeks later I got fired from my previous job and Amelia hired me on as the head baker the following Tuesday.

It pays well, and I had been good friends with my house-elves.

"Aren't you cold?" she asks, holding the door open for me. I shake my head and snuff out my cigarette before I shuffle inside. "Did you do everything out front?" is her next question. I nod, and she smiles brilliantly at me. "Thank you, dear!" she says cheerfully, before she brushes past me and starts moving the food into the cases out front.

A few minutes pass and I flip the sign to "Open" in the glass out front, before moving to the back again. Amelia grabs my arm before I can make it there, however, and I peer at her inquisitively over my shoulder. "Take the register this morning," she says, "Thom called in sick, so I asked Jeanette to take another shift this morning, and no offense, but she's better with frosting than you are."

Cakes go into the cases at ten, which is why we have to start them so early. And while I'm the head baker, it's no secret that I suck at making frosting for whatever reason- I can't get it to not be so watery- so I'm not offended by that. I shrug and move to lean against the counter next to the register while Amelia chirps her thanks and disappears into the back room to get started on coffee and other drinks.

It's not long before I'm serving customers, dealing with muggle money for the first time in a while. I hear Jeanette come in the back, not even leaving the back room once while Amelia and I move back and forth, serving.

At eight, two hours after opening, Albus walks in the door. Since the customer flow slowed down a bit a few minutes before, I have a book open in front of me when he walks in. "Morning!" Amelia calls, making me look up. As soon as I do, I freeze.

"Morning, Amelia," Albus greets, before he sees me. "Scorpius?"

I smile at him, setting aside my book while trying not to panic. "What can I do for you?"

Albus ignores the question and starts talking. "I didn't know you worked here? Is this recent? I haven't seen you since you left my flat in September- why didn't you answer my letters?"

I bite my lip. Amelia looks at us for a moment before she waves at me. "Talk to your friend- you have fifteen minutes," she allows.

I open my mouth to protest but Albus grins. "You're the best, Amy," he praises, and she waves him off, pink dusting her cheeks. Albus grabs my arm and pulls me to a table in the corner, sitting down across from me. "Talk," he says.

"I'm the head baker here," I say, "Have been for nearly a year."

"That doesn't explain why you haven't answered me."

I gesture helplessly. "When have I ever answered, since we left school?"

Here, Albus sighs, leaning his head on his hand. "That's my point, you know. I saw your father a few days after he kicked you out." I wince and move to stand, but Albus continues, "Wait! You want to hear this, trust me," he says, and I sit back down, staring at him. Unbidden, the image of him in his nightclothes rises to my mind, but I brush it away to focus on him _here_ and _now_. "He said that he'd been looking for you ever since you walked out of the front door. He said that your mother had screamed bloody murder at him and he realized his wording made it sound like you could never come home. He tied to contact you, to find you, but you were gone."

Albus shakes his head and sighs. "It's only been seven years, but it's like your parents have aged decades. They're grieving like you're dead, Scorpius, even though they know you're not." Albus reaches out and takes my hands, and I tense, but he ignores it. "They miss you. My family misses you." Albus sighs and pulls my hands to his lips, closing his eyes tightly. "I miss you," he admits. "You're my best friend, Scor."

It's been five minutes, but I yank my hands away and swallow. Albus looks alarmed, and he reaches for me, but I snap, "I have to go back to work," and walk away.

My heart breaks with every step.

…

_"Are you going to sit there all day?"_

_I jolted, looking up to see Al's laughing face. He sat down next to me and I shoved him, to which he started laughing in earnest. "Arse," I said._

_He grinned and pulled his unfinished Potions essay from his bag, leaning over it to start running. The light from the sun through the window caught on his hair, and I stared._

_He was really, really good-looking._

_It was a thought I hadn't consciously thought, and it sent a thrill of fear through my heart. My heartbeat picked up and I couldn't look away from him, from the light in his hair to the way he was biting his lip to the ink stains on his fingertips._

_It wasn't the first time I had thought of my best friend this way._

…

_"A broken heart?" the bartender asked, cleaning lasses while he stared at me in quiet sympathy. I shook my head and took another long sip from my drink, feeling the alcohol through my veins and into my brain, fuzzing my thoughts and blurring my vision._

_"More like unrequited," I muttered, leaning my head on the bar's counter. My shoulders started to shake at tears fell from my eyes._

_The bartender handed me another drink while he said, "That's the worst kind."_

_"I- I know," I coughed, taking a deep breath to try and calm down. "He doesn't even see how much I love him," I said._

_The bartender watched me wordlessly, the clinking of glasses ringing in my ears._

…

An owl flies through the window, and just like all the others, it leaves me a letter.

I stare at it for a long time, nursing a drink while I have a cigarette between my lips.

For the first time in seven years, I reach forward and grab it. I snuff out my cigarette in the ashtray and place my drink on the table, then open the letter.

_Please come home for Christmas, Scorpius._

_Mother and Father_

That's all it says.

…

Christmas comes around and instead of going to my parents' house; I head to Albus' flat, for no other reason than the fact that I must want to feel pain.

Albus has come to the bakery nearly every day since he spoke to me there, alternating between talking about current affairs to begging me to return to the Wizarding World.

It's working, much to my annoyance.

I knock on the door and even though it takes a moment, Albus does eventually open the door. He stares at me in surprise for several long minutes before he thinks to let me in.

I stare at the flat, about how unchanged it is since I was here last, and then Albus turns me around with his question. "What are you doing here?"

I shrug. "I could ask you the same. Don't you have a million family members to spend Christmas with?"

"A lot of them are working tonight, so we're doing Christmas on New Years'."

"That sounds hectic."

"It wasn't my idea."

"I figured not," I agree.

It's quiet. There's no noise from any part of the flat save for the water dripping from the faucet in the kitchen sink. I stare at Albus, at his classic wizard clothing, at his emerald green eyes. He looks back at me, and I wonder what he's thinking. "What are you doing here, Scorpius?" he sighs eventually.

I furrow my eyebrows. "You asked me that already," I reply.

Albus shakes his head. "No- no. _What are you doing here?_ Why here, why now?"

I swallow nervously and take a breath. Of course I'd known what he was really asking, but… "Because I don't want to see my parents on Christmas but I don't want to spend another one alone. I can think of no one else, no one better than you."

He gives me a very weighted look. My fingers burn for a cigarette and I would kill for a drink but I remain where I am, staring back at him. "Why don't you want to see your parents?" he asks slowly.

I shrug again, rubbing the back of my neck and messing up my hair. "They kicked me out because I was drinking and smoking, but I haven't stopped yet so there's really no point in going back."

"Why the hell did you even start?" Albus yells, sounding frustrated. It's sounds like he's wanted to ask me this for years.

He probably has.

Now or never. "Because I fell in love with my best friend," I confess.

Albus rears back in shock, eyes wide. "But- no," he says. "No, you can't have."

I shake my head. I move toward the door, but before I leave, I turn back around and pull him down to my height. I kiss him, tears burning in the back of my eyes, and then pull away. "I had to do that just once," I whisper against his lips.

He leans forward and kisses me softly. "I'm sorry I can't love you the way you want me to," he mutters, and I pull away from him entirely.

I move to the door, and Albus lets me go.

…

I knock on the door.

It's the middle of the night, but I know she'll be awake.

Sure enough, the door opens slowly to reveal my mother, who gasps at the sight of me.

I must look a right mess, but I don't care and neither does she. I fall into her arms and she holds me close, humming a lullaby she used to sing to me when I was a child.

"He will never love me back, Mama," I whisper, and she hushes me quietly. "I'm sorry, sorry," I continue anyway, "for leaving and not coming back."

"You came back," she says. "You came back. It'll be okay, now."

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my personal favorites of my completed works, so please leave me some feedback. Thanks, loves!


End file.
